Girls' Night
by Laure001
Summary: Elizabeth's friends all want to know how she met and got married to the mysterious William d'Arcy. Alcohol is involved.


"Why isn't Willoughby retweeting me?" Marianne asked.

"He will," Marianne's sister Elinor answered in a calming voice.

Emma – the hostess – chose that moment to replenish the drinks. It was not the first time – let's just say that a hefty dose of alcohol had already been consumed this evening.

Girls Night at Emma's extremely expensive apartment in London was an occasion for embarrassing stories and quite serious drinking. They had all met as participants in a study abroad program in Paris as college students, and since then they tried to get together every December… There was Emma, of course, she was always the one to make those reunions happen. Then there was Elinor who brought along now her much younger sister Marianne – who had spent the night on her phone, tweeting to John Willoughby (who didn't retweet,) WhatsApping John Willoughby (who didn't answer,) now she was actually in the process of texting him – but enough about Marianne. The other guests were Anne, sweet Anne, who generally showed up early to help with the cooking and did all the dishes after, and Mary with her career advice and healthy cynicism – she never helped with the clean up.

Then, of course, there was Nawel.

Nawel was always the life of the party – so clever, always kind and funny. Emma called Nawel "Elizabeth", because – well, long story, related to a student prank – better forget about it. This was a special occasion, because Nawel had been absent for three years in a row – and much had happened.

The girls were all around thirty now, most of them were married, or at least in serious relationships, but they kept the tradition. They always found new topics to talk about, and the main one tonight, launched by Anne at the beginning of the soirée was… fate. Or destiny, or whatever.

Anne's actual sentence had been, "there is no randomness in the universe – everything is written in advance." Emma had scoffed, Mary had called the idea "preposterous" – but Nawel, who was generally on the side of rationality and reason, had a moment of hesitation.

"Well, normally, I would disagree," she said. "But since I met William… I must admit, I may have thought about fate once or twice."

"Oh no!" Mary protested. "Nawel please! Don't drift to the dark side."

"The romantic side, you mean," Anne intervened.

"Willoughby and I were destined to meet," Marianne chimed in – but everyone ignored her.

"Come on, Nawel," Emma protested. "Please tell me you don't believe in destiny…"

Nawel was weirdly embarrassed – she even blushed a little. "There are some interesting theories about the non-randomness of the universe," she countered. "After all, Jung has talked about synchronicity for years. He made some valid points."

"And Emma – don't play the cynic," Elinor said with a smile. "I remember you spouting some very romantic nonsense when you first got together with George."

"I was not talking about fate!" Emma protested. "Just, you know." She smiled, then bowed with a theatrical gesture. "True love."

Cheers, some applause and a few graphic jokes accompanied that comment.

"You married your next door neighbor, Emma!" Mary protested. "That's not destiny. That's geography."

"Stop discussing philosophy!" Elinor protested. "I want to know about Nawel's new guy. Who is this William person? Is he good enough for her? Has anybody met him?"

"I have," Emma announced.

"Do we approve of him?" Mary asked.

Emma had a mysterious smile. "I think you all have to hear the story first."

"Oh,"said Elinor, "there's a story?"

"There has to be one," Anne said. "We hardly see Nawel for three years – and suddenly she is back in Paris, living with a man…"

"Married to a man," Mary corrected. "Right? So… Elizabeth. I mean, Nawel… Drink your wine… there – finish it – that's a good girl – and now tell the story."

It was a story Nawel was perfectly happy to tell. Emma replenished the glasses – again – and everybody drew their chairs closer – except Marianne, who went back to texting.

"Why doesn't he answer? And Brandon keeps forwarding me stuff about music," she grumbled. "Maybe Willoughby lost his phone. Or his battery died."

"Oh, absolutely, Mary snickered. "Willoughby's phone died. That is the ONLY rational explanation, when a man is not answering your messages." Marianne looked confused, Elinor sent Mary a dark look, which was thoroughly ignored. "Nawel," Mary ordered. "Talk."

Nawel took a new sip, then obliged.

"Ok, so, you remember… when I finished my degree, I went back to Algiers to open my practice," she explained. "Behavioral psychology. I already saw myself – a schedule full of famous clients – a beautiful new car – living in a cosy little house near the beach, no far from my sister's and her kids… My father bragging about me in all his seminars, my mother finally shutting up about money and all those nice Muslim boys I keep saying no to…"

"Your mother will never shut up about money," Emma declared. She had spent quite a few holidays in Algiers, with Nawel's family, and had a great time – but man, they were LOUD. "Even if you married a prince. Which you kind of have."

"Oh, this is intriguing," Anne said, smiling, and even Marianne raised her head from her phone.

"A prince?"

Nawel laughed. "Not a prince – but William is from a very old family – a French one. The D'Arcys. His real first name is Guillaume, but as he travels a lot – some expat in Cambodia began to call him 'William' and it stuck…"

"The D'Arcys… Nobles, I suppose?" Mary asked.

"Very much so. So William was – he is working for the French government, overseeing subway construction all over the world. Three years ago, he was living in Saudi Arabia developing the RATP investment's there when he decided to end his marriage – after less than a year. The divorce was messy. I met his ex-wife, and I know it's such a cliché, the new wife hating the ex-wife, but I swear, she is awful."

"Oh, we don't care about clichés," Mary said. "We are all ready to hate her for you." She raised her glass. "What's the ex-wife's name?"

"Caroline."

"To hating Caroline!" Mary said, and everybody cheered. "Ok, back to Prince Charming."

"Prince Unpleasant would be more accurate," Emma corrected. Then she waved her hand. "You'll see. Keep going, Nawel!"

"William was devastated – he realized how much more Caroline had always loved his money and his social position more than she had loved him – he was kind of depressed for a while."

"I thought you didn't believe in depression, Nawel," Elinor said. "You said happiness cured everything."

"I did?"

"Oh yes, do you remember…" Elinor got into a detailed retelling of a conversation they had when they were nineteen, after a long night of dancing, where they had talked about love and Nawel, it seems, had declared that depression and being in love were artificial concepts invented by humans to make themselves interesting.

"Oh my God!" Nawel cried, horrified. "Elinor, I officially apologize. I was such a fool."

"Yes, let's tell all your patients that depression doesn't exist," Mary proposed. "That ought to go well."

"Oh come on," Nawel protested, smiling. "It should be forbidden to remember all the silly things your friends said when they were not even twenty. There should be an obligatory amnesia! Or, you know, at least a statute of limitation or something."

"We don't care!" Anne cried. "Back to the romance! What happened with your guy?"

Nawel laughed. "Well, William was in bad shape, and he wanted to quit. So his best friend there, Richard, intervened before he made a mistake. He talked William into staying with the job, but with a a change of scenery - a random change of scenery. So Richard printed a list of all the RATP missions William could apply too, they got a little drunk, William closed his eyes and pointed to the list to choose a country… and that is how he ended up in Algiers."

"See! See!" Anne perked up again. "Destiny! It was your fate to meet. Oh my God. That is so romantic."

"It is," Marianne said – who was listening again. "So what happened? He saw you – and – was it love at first sight?"

"What happened," Nawel said with a wry smile, "is that two days after his arrival, William was already HATED by everyone. He had entered the Algerian offices in a sour mood, and told Charles – the RATP director for. there – that it was just his luck he had ended up in this God forsaken place."

"What? Algiers is beautiful," Elinor protested.

"It is," Emma agreed. "But it just happens that Nawel's prince is a little bit of a snob."

Nawel nodded. "He is."

"The poor guy," Anne protested. "Cut him some slack! He was heartbroken! Arriving in a new country, all alone."

"Well he did fall in love with Nawel, didn't he?" Mary commented. "Which proves elite taste. Sometimes snobbery can be useful."

Elinor furrowed her brows. "But, wait… Were you working at RATP, Nawel? I thought you had a therapy practice."

"Ah, yes. My practice. I did open it. And made NO money. As it happens, it takes years to build up a clientele, who would have thought?"

"You are the daughter of one of the most renowned psychoanalyst in the country!"

"Right?" Nawel laughed. "I expected that to count for something! The whole situation was very unfair, I thought at the time. I had counted on nepotism, and even that had failed me."

Mary shook her head. "People have no respect for tradition."

"Anyway, I realized it would take some time before I could earn a decent income," Nawel continued, "and I didn't want to go back living with my parents. So I took a part-time assistant job at the RATP offices in Algeria."

Anne nodded. "Your French is perfect."

Nawel smiled. "I will happily forego modesty for truth – yes it is. So. Every morning, I met with William – who was Mr. D'Arcy at the time, of course, or 'sir.' Most days the meetings were crowded, but sometimes it was just the two of us. He was always so dry, so cold. To be honest, I thought he despised me. But somehow… we'd always end up working on the same projects. Projects he was in charge of."

"And you didn't suspect anything?" Elinor asked.

"No! For me, he was the man who had insulted my home and said I was not good enough to work with him – that a psychology diploma was useless and not what the position needed…"

"Well, to be fair…" Emma began pointing out, but Nawel protested:

"I speak five languages! And the job was all about communication, no need for an engineering background… Anyway, I was killing it – see how modesty had never been my issue – and then D'Arcy had to leave for Saudi Arabia again. When he came back, four weeks later, he noticed I was not around anymore. He didn't see me for one week… Two weeks… But as nobody commented on my absence, he didn't dare ask…"

"And everybody hated him anyway, right?" asked Emma.

"Well, nobody shared office gossip with him, at least. So finally, one evening – it was pretty late – he asked the cleaning lady why I was not coming to work."

"The cleaning lady?" Marianne repeated.

"Yes. I know. But that's what happened. And Nabilah told him I got married."

"What?" Everybody exclaimed – except Emma, who had a smug smile, because she already knew the twist.

"Married?" Marianne repeated.

"Yes," Nawel continued. "And William replied – to Nabilah – he said: 'What? But she should have married me…"'

Elinor was flabbergasted. "He said that?"

"Yes."

"To the cleaning lady?"

"Yes."

"But…"

"It is so interesting from a psychological standpoint," Anne intervened, "and yes, I know I am talking to a psychologist. He must have received such a shock. For a private, proud man… To utter such a thing… in front of someone he didn't know… "

"He is very repressed," Nawel commented.

"Oh my God, I know just the type." Mary rolled her eyes. "You said he was from a traditional, rich family… Catholic military school, right?"

"Sadly, yes."

Mary shook her head. "Don't be mad at me, Nawel, but I hate your guy already."

Anne furrowed her brow. "But, Mary, wasn't Edmond exactly…"

"NO NO NO!" said Emma in a very loud voice. « Anne, don't you know? We NEVER pronounce that name aloud. It is THE LAW. Mary's law."

"Yes, or we say 'Voldemort,'" Elinor explained.

"That part of my life never happened," Mary stated. "Erased, the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind way. So please, no mention of Voldemort ever again."

"Mary," Nawel protested, "sorry to go all professional on you, but trying to repress a painful experience is actually not the best way to…"

"Shut the hell up, darling. And by that, I mean, please continue with the story."

"Fine." Nawel smiled, "Well, you know Algeria. Of course, Nabilah is a distant cousin. And of course she related the conversation to me the next day. But I didn't believe it – well, I believed D'Arcy had actually pronounced those words, but I chalked it to a strange, lame joke. Then I came back to work…"

"No NO NO wait!" Elinor interrupted. "You had gotten married? To whom?"

"To Wickham. Malekh Wickham. Remember the picture I send you guys?"

"The guy on the private beach? With the yellow swim trunk?" Mary smiled. "Of course I remember."

"We all remember," Elinor said. "It was a very suggestive picture."

"He was handsome, he was broke, we got married. I was so infatuated, and Malekh was so damn charming, and I was turning 30 and there was a lot of societal pressure… even my sister gently nudged me to 'open my heart,' and my mother loved Malekh for some bizarre reason – although he had no money. She thought the fact that he had an American father was so romantic. Malekh had been cheated of his inheritance – well, that was what he told us at the time…"

"But what about D'Arcy?" Anne asked.

"Nothing changed, in appearance at least. I was back at the office. We were still working together. We had interminable meetings. We spent a lot of time in the same room. He was so cold. Sometimes I caught him staring at my ring."

"That poor, poor man," Anne whispered.

"He was pretty obnoxious, to be honest. He exasperated me more and more. And one day – we had spent the whole morning together, just the two of us – he said – right there, in the empty conference room – well, basically, he said he loved me."

The girls were silent.

"He said…" Nawel shook her head. "He said Wickham – Malekh – was a bad man, a dangerous man, and that I should get a divorce. He said that he – could not stop thinking about me. That he couldn't stop looking at me. His declaration – he was so very passionate. Very…"

Nawel paused for a moment.

"But before, you swoon, Anne… He also explained that he had not declared himself before because I was so inferior to him – ok, he didn't use the word 'inferior,' but it was implied – that his family would disapprove – because I was Algerian – the words 'former colony' were actually uttered."

Mary's eyes were wide. "You are kidding."

"He didn't stop there. I was Muslim, or at least from a Muslim family – which apparently should be have been a deal breaker. I had an 'assistant job.' He said that his friends wouldn't understand. That 'expats generally don't end up married to natives.'"

"Natives?" Elinor was aghast.

"That is not a romance, that is a horror story," Mary protested. "Tell me that he is not 'the Prince'. That you are still happily married to Wickham."

"'Natives?' Elinor repeated. "No, seriously, he actually said that?"

"Yep."

"So what happened?" Marianne asked, her phone completely forgotten.

"What happened is that I rejected him – and was pretty insulting myself, I'm afraid to say. I said he was racist. I said he was elitist, spiteful, heartless – that nobody could stand him – that I hated his guts – it was very, very bad. After that, I didn't see him anymore. I don't know how he managed it, but starting that day, we were never in a meeting together."

"How heartbreaking," Anne whispered.

"He deserved it! He deserved all of it!" Mary grumbled.

"He made a mistake," Anne protested. "Everyone does."

"And as it happened, I had also made a huge one," Nawel continued. "Three months after, I was divorcing Wickham. That is why I never mentioned my marriage to you guys – only to Emma. I felt so stupid. So used. Everything D'Arcy had told me about Malekh was true. He was dangerous, and he had lied about… about everything. Anyway… Months passed. My practice was doing much better, so I quit my job at the RATP – but Charles, the director, hired me right back again, as an independent consultant, this time. My title was… 'Communication facilitator.'"

"What the hell is that?" asked Elinor, laughing.

"Basically, lobbying. D'Arcy was now the head of a huge project of renovation of the entire subway. I was helping maintaining good relationships between the RATP and the Algerian government – that's where my father's name was helpful again…"

"Yay, nepotism!" Emma intervened. "But I disapprove. There can be only one genius lobbyist in this group."

"You are a genius lobbyist in England, Emma," Elinor protested. "Can you be a genius lobbyist in Algiers?"

"I can be whatever the fuck I want," Emma stated, imperial, and Elinor shook her head.

"You scare me sometimes."

"The Algerian government was not helpful," Nawel continued, the French administration wasn't either, and we were stuck in between – D'Arcy, Charles and I. So we were thrown together a lot, on equal terms, this time. I was not an assistant anymore. D'Arcy was… very polite. Very respectful. Very distant."

"I suppose we can't blame him for that, at least," Mary grumbled. "Considering."

"Nope," Nawel said. "And I was slowly realizing I had made another huge mistake."

"By refusing him?"

"Yes. Remember when I had said that everybody hated D'Arcy? I couldn't have been more wrong, actually. People on the renovation project adored him. The engineers, the architects, the workers… Turned out he was stern, but fair, and dedicated… He worked a lot, and was very loyal to his team…"

"You mean, he was condescending to actually talk to the natives?" Mary quipped.

"Aw, I should not have said that word!" Nawel cried. "Now you are going to hate him, Mary."

Mary's father was English – a very rich and influential lawyer – but her mother was French, of Vietnamese origin, so the "former colony" mention did not sit well with her daughter.

"You are right, I do hate him," Mary stated. "But please, go on."

"I loved my job," Nawel explained. "I was good at it. And the lobbying brought me new clients for the practice – important ones. So suddenly I was making money… "

"Yay, money!" It was Anne's turn to cheer.

"And suddenly Wickham wanted all of it. See," Nawel explained, while the others leaned closer again, "we were not divorced yet. The process was ongoing – but we had been separated for almost a year – and well, long story short, Algerian law does not favor women. It was a nightmare. To give him what he wanted, I would have had to sell the practice, to give him access to all my bank accounts. And Wickham began to say that he would not divorce after all. Why would he, now that I was earning a good living, right? And he… he actually threatened me… In private… Saying that if we didn't stay married… things could happen to me, or to my younger sisters… that nobody would ever be the wiser… "

"Oh God," Elinor whispered.

"I was saved by a kickass lawyer. Charles talked to me privately one day, explaining that the RATP gave 'judicial protection' to its employees… "

"But," Mary protested, "you were a consultant. Not an employee."

"Yes, of course, but I didn't question what should have been obvious. I was so scared, and the lawyer was so efficient… ruthless… He took everything in hand, and suddenly Wickham was out of my life – actually, he left the country, I never really knew why – and the divorce was final. It was a sort of miracle. I only learned later – much later – than D'Arcy had paid for all of it. And made everybody swear that they would never tell."

Anne put her hand on her heart. "Aw."

"Your knight in secret shining armor!" Marianne commented.

"He saved you with money," Mary protested. "Big deal."

"Well, Mary," Emma said. "Before dismissing money, consider what would have happened if he hadn't. Saved Nawel, I mean."

Mary sipped her glass with a dark look. "How generous of the rich white man to help the sexy savage. With the fine eyes and the big boobs."

"Oh, is it 'savage' now?" Elinor commented.

"You forget the diplomas," Nawel protested. "Please. I am all boobs and diplomas."

Mary gave a theatrical gesture. "Savage, native, indigenous female… Please choose your colonial nomenclature."

"I like 'savage' best," Emma decided. "It invokes visuals of naked bodies and fire and… Strangely sexual barbarous acts."

"Naked bodies and barbarous acts, so not the D'Arcy way," Nawel mused. "Well, not at first. Now, when we are alone…"

Everybody whistled and cheered till Anne made them stop. "Shut up! So! Nawel, what happened next?"

"What happened next…"Nawel hesitated. "What happened next is that I fell head over heels in love with William. And I didn't even know about the lawyer at the time. I just… We were always working together… I learned so much about him. He was so honest. Such a good friend – to Charles, to his colleagues. He never lied – not that I noticed at least."

"He lied about the lawyer," Mary pointed.

Emma laughed. "We'll give him that one."

"He was – he is – very educated, very interesting," Nawel continued. "And he even has a great sense of humor – a very dry, deadpan one – that I didn't notice at first, but it is definitely there. And I… ok, are you ready for the romantic, corny part?"

"Yes please!" Marianne cried, while Elinor smiled and Mary rolled her eyes.

"I realized I was in love, really in love, for the first time. Wickham was – I don't know what Wickham was, but now, with D'Arcy, I… I felt… it was painful. Seeing him every day, knowing that I had missed my chance. I could not sleep at night."

Nobody commented. Nawel continued: "So you see, Elinor, that discussion we had, when I was nineteen… I couldn't have been more wrong."

"Are you biting your tongue?" Elinor asked with a glint of amusement in her eyes. "That's what I told Nawel at the time," she explained. "I said, 'One day, a man will catch your eye, and you will bite your tongue.'"

Nawel laughed. "I'm biting! Definitely biting! But in a metaphorical way, please."

"I'll allow it."

"So?" Anne asked again.

"So… Nothing. Time passed, the renovation project was going well, and I began to think… that maybe D'Arcy still liked me after all."

"Why?" Marianne asked.

"I don't know how to explain. The way he looked at me sometimes… or the way he avoided looking."

"That doesn't make any sense," Mary protested.

"It totally does!" Anne claimed. "It's the little things…"

"Yes," said Nawel, blushing. "The way he… gravitated to me. The way he always gave me the first cup of coffee… And never forgot the sugar… I know it sounds ridiculous."

"It doesn't," Anne cried.

"It does," Mary countered.

"They are married now, aren't they?" was Anne's retort. "So the coffee was meaningful."

Mary didn't answer and Nawel continued: "I began to hope. My heart skipping a beat each time our eyes met – I told you it was going to be corny. I was looking at him – and thinking, you know… Maybe, just maybe…"

"You should have spoken," Marianne said. "Told him how you felt. You should have rung at his door, clad only in black lingerie."

"Or, totally naked," Elinor said, pouring herself some more wine. "Be sure to send a clear message."

"I definitely should have," Nawel said. "But education is a bitch. Yes, I come from a not too religious, not too traditional family… But still."

"And then?" Anne asked.

Nawel hesitated. "And then – one day, we talked, he told me he still loved me, we got married, voilà."

"Whaaat?" protested Marianne. "Is that all?"

"Yes. My story ends there."

Elinor frowned. "Are you kidding?"

"Please never become a writer," Mary protested. "Your endings suck."

"It's just… What happened is private," Nawel explained – a little flustered. "And uninteresting anyway."

"You know more, right?" Elinor asked Emma.

"Not much."

"So you just got married," Mary said disapprovingly to Nawel. "Blindly, to a guy you hardly knew. No living together for a year as a test drive or something."

"Well, when it comes down to it, we're both pretty traditional," Nawel answered with a smile. "And it was… It was just… We were… We just both really wanted it."

Marianne was still listening intently. "But what about his family?"

Nawel shrugged happily. "Oh, they hate me. When William introduced me, they threatened to disinherit him. They all behaved pretty badly, except his younger sister – she is so sweet – we're growing very close. But you know," Nawel added with a confident smile, "I am a 'communication facilitator' after all. I will seduce them, it's just a question of time. In the meantime, I'm opening a practice in Paris…"

"And William's sister is going to intern with me," Emma explained. "I have been asked to help her overcome her shyness."

"Oh, is she the new Harriett?" Anne asked, eyes twinkling.

"Definitely." Emma smiled. "Georgiana is the new Harriett."

Mary leaned back in her chair. "I don't care. I still dislike the guy. I'm glad you're happy, Nawel, but love doesn't erase racism."

"It was more like, classism," Elinor mused, to which Mary answered:

"When race is a factor, they're inseparable."

"I don't necessarily agree," Elinor protested, and the two women got into a heated debate, which obviously achieved no clear resolution. Eventualy Mary turned to Anne:

"What amazes me is that he was still in love with Nawel after what, a whole year? A year and a half? Unrequited love, for someone who violently rejected you? I am sorry, but that is not healthy."

Anne laughed. "You're barking the wrong tree. Remember my story?" Anne had recently become engaged to the love of her life, a dashing Russian captain, after a separation period of eight years.

"I have to admit," Emma commented, "that since your happy ending, Anne, I will think twice before dispensing to anybody my sage love advice – I mean, think about it, girls. For years we told Anne 'will you fucking move on!' and then we told her 'you have to accept he's dead!' when Alexey was MIA, and then, when he came back and all but ignored her, we were all 'he's just not that much into you'… and… look at the result."

Anne's cheeks had turned pink. "Well, I didn't move on, Alexey wasn't dead, and he is… still very much into me," she whispered, with a shy smile. "So now, I'm happy."

They all looked at her with affection, and then the conversation turned to Mary's latest conquest. She was having a hot, steamy affair with a man five years younger, "His name is Henri Tilnet," Mary explained, "and yes, I know he's got the same name than my brother, but there's nothing oedipal going on there so don't even start. Henri is extremely clever, totally hilarious, and he just quit the seminary cold turkey, if you can believe it. He discovered he is bisexual, and very much into sex after all, and…"

… and Mary's story was all very funny, and very well told, but Nawel's mind was drifting – to Algeria, to the conference room… to that period where, like Anne, she could not move on – when she was stuck – thinking that D'Arcy was just not that into her anymore, and that happiness was forever out of reach.

But still, there were – indications – she could not totally despair, even though he remained silent and formal. There were little shards of hope:The fact that William's schedule seemed to fit so smoothly with hers, so that they often ended up at the same place at the same time – the way he listened to her – the way he held the door for her – the way he – oh, forget it, sometimes you just feel there is something there, it doesn't have to be rational – so Nawel tried to respond with hints of her own, she… brought him coffee (with milk,) or, yes, she held the door – sure, maybe it was ridiculous, but what could she do? How could she show him – she remembered that look in his eyes when she complimented his handling of a union dispute – that expression on his face for a fleeting moment – then he went back swiftly into "neutral mode."

And then came that day.

The renovation project was almost over. Nawel and her team (she had a team now) had decided to take pictures and do some filming inside, to show the "important people" how great it all looked and how smoothly it all went – lobbying, remember? So they were walking underground, in the tunnels, all five of them – and ok, maybe this whole underworld trip had really been organized because Charles had such a huge crush on Jeanne, the nice new urban planning intern from Paris, anyway, there was some turning around and some filming and then it was getting late but for some unclear reason D'Arcy thought it would be useful for Nawel to get some images of the new tunnel which was being dug farther south, or maybe it was Nawel's idea – anyway Charles and Jeanne and the others just wanted to get home, so D'Arcy and Nawel just went boldly in the tunnel alone.

It was dark.

The tunnel was endless, and completely silent.

They both were completely silent.

The ground was uneven, with a lot of pebbles and metal and some construction machines lying around, so he offered her his arm – he knew the place much better – she took it.

They kept walking. In perfect silence. For a long time.

Then she stumbled, lightly – on something – in the darkness, he held her, "Be careful, my love," he whispered.

There was the slightest pause. She felt him freeze. Realizing what he just said.

A silence. They resumed walking.

Only a few steps, before he stopped again, right there in the dark.

"Listen," he started, his tone unsteady. Another silence. "I am sorry. I shouldn't have said… I…"

His voice faltered. Nawel couldn't pretend anymore. "Don't… Don't apologize, please…" she whispered. "I am the one who should… I want to thank you for the lawyer – for all you did," she continued. "I know you didn't want me to know, but I learned the truth and…"

He was looking at her – she supposed – in the darkness.

"And I was wrong," she finally continued, "I was so wrong, about everything. I was…"

She lost her voice. They stayed immobile, for a while – in total obscurity.

"Listen," he said again. Then, nothing.

He started again.

"Obviously, I still… I mean… If you wanted…" he whispered, his voice almost inaudible. "If you wished…"

Silence.

She leaned toward him blindly – her hair caressed his shoulder, her hand searched, found his cheek, she tried to kiss him, fumbled, brushing his neck – she felt him catch his breath – then somehow he found her in the dark – kissing her desperately – his hands framing her face, they fumbled backwards, in the obscurity, till she had her back on the wall – still kissing blindly, and somewhere there was a town and people and a world but for now it was only the two of them, and it lasted for an eternity – then she invited him into her apartment, but he gallantly redirected them to his – which was much bigger – and traditional or not, they spent the weekend in bed – apologizing and having sex and apologizing again and then more sex and there was never any awkwardness or doubts about the future, on Sunday afternoon it had already established that she would go back with him in Paris and they would both settle there – it was crazy, on hindsight, how – how they both knew that was it – the decisions they made – the things he told her in that bed – whispering words of love in the night – it was…

"No, no – nobody's leaving! Nobody's crossing my threshold while there's still champagne in that fridge!" Emma was saying, and she poured a new round of alcohol – while Elinor was trying to explain to Marianne what a "seminary" was. Yes, Mary had just finished her very, very sexy story – but then Nawel's husband, William D'Arcy in person, came to pick up his wife – they were taking the Eurostar back early the next morning.

Of course the attention was all on him, and when he left with Nawel the girls decided they were not that impressed. Sure, he was very tall, and very handsome, but he seemed so cold – "stuck up", Mary stated, only Anne jumped to his defense, saying how his eyes had softened as soon as they fell on Nawel and "how would you feel, Mary, if you entered a room with five men who were all weirdly fixated on you," … and then the conversation turned again.

Nawel and D'Arcy were walking to the car – he had his arm around her waist – it was a cloudy night.

He asked her if she had fun with the girls, she told him they talked about destiny – "Do you think it was fate, the way that we met?" she asked, adding, laughingly, "do you think it was written in the stars?"

He always thought before answering a question and this was no exception.

"No, I don't," he finally stated. "I like the idea that it was not written. That we had to make it happen."

"You mean that we had to want it? That it was a conscious decision from both of us?"

"Exactly. It was so close," he added after some more thought. "We almost missed… everything."

She smiled. "That would have been a shame."

"It would have," he said, holding her just a little bit closer.

"But to be honest," Nawel started again when they arrived to the car, "it got to a point where – I think we were both determined. If we hadn't settled things in that tunnel, I would have shown up at your doorstep naked."

He looked at her, thought for a moment, and nodded.

"Perfect plan."

"So what have we learned?" Elinor asked, back at Emma's apartment. "Was it fate? Was it destiny? Has the chorus reached a decision?"

"We learned," Anne cried, "to always trust your emotions – and that true love will prevail."

"Are you kidding me?" Mary laughed. "It's exactly the opposite! Nawel trusted her emotions and ended up married to Wickham. And then," Mary smirked, "she married a Rich Racist Stuck-Up White Guy. So what we learned is, make money, never get married, and sleep around."

"It was fate," Anne protested. "D'Arcy closed his eyes and his fingers landed on Algiers."

"And had his finger landed on Moscow, Rich Racist Stuck Up White Man would be married today to a witty Russian girl named Antonina. Who would be telling the story to her girlfriends right now, around a vodka bottle."

"I don't believe it," Anne said sternly.

"I don't either," Emma said. "No pretty sophisticated moscovite would drink Vodka when there's French crémant to be had. But," she added, "fate or not, believe me, Nawel is very happy." Emma drank a sip of champagne "And yes, the moral of the story is clearly NOT to follow your gut. The first guy is generally all wrong for you. Especially if he is charming and silver tongued, and," Emma added, looking at Marianne, "especially if he doesn't answer your tweets."

Marianne looked at her phone, then at Emma, then at her phone again.

"And I know when I'm talking about," Emma added. "There was a Frank in my life, before George… He was irresistible. And sleeping with another woman the entire time."

"Shall we call him Voldemort as well?" Mary asked.

"No, I never really cared that much," Emma answered. "But the secret is, Marianne, you've got to look for the trustworthy one. How does this 'Brandon' guy look?"

"He's old," Marianne protested.

"He's five years older than you are," Elinor protested. "That's not retirement age yet."

"Picture, now!" ordered Emma, snapping her fingers. Marianne began to look for Brandon's Tinder profile, and the girls all leaned toward the phone.

Emma smiled. "Let's see what we think of this one."


End file.
